Nowhere To Go
by Roslyn Drycof
Summary: What if you were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape? Both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are imprisoned by memories of pain they can't run from. Can they help each other find peace? HPDM. Non-graphic child abuse. Slash.
1. The PrettyBoyWhoWasAWeakling

**Title: **Nowhere To Go

**Author: **Roslyn Drycof

**Chapter: **One: The Pretty-Boy-Who-Was-A-Weakling

**Rating: **R (because of mature themes)

**Warnings: **non-graphic child abuse, non-graphic rape; future themes of cutting, thoughts of suicide, slash

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Summary: **What if you were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape? Both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are imprisoned by memories of pain they can't run from. Can they help each other find peace? HPDM. Non-graphic child abuse. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **The usual disclaimer which says I don't own Harry Potter in any way possible in this dimension (or in any dimension, for that matter)

* * *

****

He was coming. His heavy footsteps approached the cupboard under the stairs, a raspy chuckle of anticipation sounding in the quiet of the night. It was one of _those_ nights.

Harry Potter huddled in his "room", his heart pounding and his thin frame trembling. He clenched his teeth tightly, trying to keep himself from crying out in fear. Uncle Vernon liked his cries.

The door to the cupboard slammed open and Harry vainly tried to suppress a flinch. His uncle loomed in the opening, a leer twisting his bloated face. "Boy, get out here."

Swallowing harshly, the raven-haired boy obeyed. It was always better if he obeyed. Otherwise. . .Vernon liked to get violent. "Spiced things up," he said.

Vernon's heavy paw of a hand clamped down on Harry's shoulder, forcefully propelling him towards the small bedroom off to the side of the den. It had been built right before Harry came back from sixth year, built just for one purpose. For Vernon's secret "fun".

The sixteen year old wizard was thrown onto the bed that took up half the small room, his face being buried into the pillow as his uncle held him down. Bruises that were slow to fade protested at the whale-like weight of Vernon, but Harry managed to suppress a moan of pain. Just barely.

He screwed his eyes shut, trying not to think of what was happening. Trying to block out uncle Vernon's sounds of excitement, the meaty hands ripping at his threadbare clothes, the caresses that were anything but gentle or exciting.

"You're so pretty, Boy. . ." his uncle's voice moaned, a hand roaming where it shouldn't.

A few tears trickled out and were absorped by the pillow as Harry felt a burning pain. _Why me? Why does this have to happen to me?! It hurts so much. . ._

Minutes later, he was freed from Vernon's weight as the large man re-buttoned his pants and left the room with a whispered, "Till next time, Boy."

Left alone, Harry curled up into a ball and began sobbing. He hurt so much, inside and out. Why did his uncle do this to him? _And why can't I resist? Fight back?_

He remembered the first times, when he did try to fight. But Vernon stole his wand and hid it so Harry was helpless. Without his wand, he was back to being the weakling, the scrawny litle boy in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived? Yeah, right. More like Harry Potter, the Pretty-Boy-Who-Was-A-Weakling.

And it was true. How could a 5'8", 130 lb. sixteen year old boy fight a grown man who weighed over 200 lbs.? It was impossible without magic. Not that he'd be able to use his wand if he even had it, being an underage wizard and all. Hadn't he almost gotten in deep shit over using magic a few summers ago?

Because of that stupid rule, here he was. Forced to submit to Vernon Dursley's disgusting advances without any hope of escape. At least he was being allowed to back to school in the fall, under the condition that no one find out. Apparently, Vernon had stumbled across a hit man who specialized in wizard assassinations. And since Harry didn't particularly want to die, he knew he wouldn't tell.

Yeah, he was going to face off against Voldemort again. But he knew how to handle that particular menace. A muggle hit man whom he'd never met before? Too unpredictable, too dangerous.

So he'd go back to school and keep his abuse a secret. That was fine with him. He didn't particularly relish confessing something so humiliating and painful. It hurt too much, was still too fresh. And they wouldn't understand. No one understood anything about him. Not even Ron and Hermione, although they came close.

He was alone, with nowhere to go. . .nowhere to be safe. And until the fall term started, he was all uncle Vernon's. . .

* * *

_A month later. . ._

Harry arrived at the train station at the beginning of the fall term with his uncle walking behind him, a sweaty hand on his shoulder. He felt nauseous with Vernon so close to him. The big man had been following him closely ever since they left the house.

They suddenly stopped in the main lobby of the train station. "Now Boy, you'll remember your little promise?"

Trying hard not to gag as he looked into his uncle's squinty eyes that burned full of lust, Harry nodded. "I remember, uncle Vernon."

"Good, good. Now off to school."

Harry nodded again and headed towards Platform Nine and Three Quarters. His steps were fast and getting faster, until he was practically running towards the brick entrance to the train.

He wasn't watching where he was going and suddenly crashed into someone, knocking them both to the ground. The other person's elbow was shoved into his side as they fell and Harry cried out in pain as it hit a particularly large bruise given to him the night before. Through his pain, he faintly heard the other person cry out in exactly the same way.

Rolling over to lay on his back, catching his breathing, he saw who he'd knocked over. It was Draco Malfoy. He expected the blond to immediately start berating and insulting him. But Malfoy had his eyes shut and a hand clutched to his stomach. His breathing was shallow and his lithe frame, skinnier than it had been at the end of last term, was trembling.

Harry stared at his rival, his eyes wide, until a sharp voice made him look away. Lucius Malfoy stood there, a black scowl on his aristocratic face. "You bloody idiot of a boy! I can't take you anywhere, you clumsy fool! Letting Potter knock you over, how stupid is that?!"

Shock filled the raven-haired teen as he realized that Lucius wasn't yelling at him, but at his own son. He turned his gaze back to Draco Malfoy's and gasped at what he saw. Fear shone in the other boy's eyes.

"So sorry, Father. How stupid of me," Draco muttered, looking down at the ground.

Contempt filled the senior Malfoy's silvery eyes and he stalked over to his son. With a harsh movement, he jerked the teen up until Draco was standing.

To any onlookers, it seemed as if Lucius was simply helping his son to his feet, albeit a little roughly. But Harry knew different. He saw Lucius's hand snake across his son's neck in a hidden caress, saw Draco flinch at the touch. And he wanted to gag.

Horrible memories filled him, memories as fresh as the last night. Memories of meaty hands running through his black hair. Memories of thick fingers trailing down his chest. Memories. . .

"Harry!" A cheery voice called out and a slim hand was clapped on his shoulder.

He tried to keep from flinching, but failed. It was only Ron, his best friend, but he couldn't help from shieing away from his friendly touch.

Thankfully, Ron's attention was suddenly riveted on the Malfoy's, or else he would've noticed his friend's withdrawal.

"Malfoy," he spat.

Lucius sneered, withdrawing his hand from his son's neck. "Oh look, a Weasley. This train station is simply becoming a dump. Good thing this is your last year, Draco, or else I'd be finding different transportation for you next year."

In the past, Draco would've made some ugly comment of agreement, further designed to insult Weasley. But today, he stayed silent and tense.

And normally, Harry would've had some comeback aimed at the senior Malfoy concerning his Death Eater activities or his prison stay, however short that had been. But today, he simply pulled Ron away.

Ron didn't want to go and was a bright red of anger, but Harry managed to get him safely away. Still, his curses were quite vocal and the emerald-eyed teen was sure the Malfoys could definitely hear them. "Rotten, ugly bastards! They have no right to treat my family like that! We don't have money, but at least we're not Death Eater scum who bow to a monster who belongs in Hell!"

Harry didn't listen to his friend's ranting, instead concentrating on what he'd seen. Something was wrong with Draco Malfoy. When did he start acting like that? And why was Lucius' hand caressing his neck? Was he being abused? No. . .Harry was just being sensitive because of his own situation. Right?

"Harry? Harry?" A feminine voice interrupted his disturbing thoughts.

He turned startled eyes to his other best friend. Hermione stood in front of him, a concerned look on his face. "Harry, are you all right? You look dreadful, as if you haven't eaten at all this summer!"

A weak smile was forced onto his features and he mumbled, "Dudley was on a diet again and you know how they make me eat less than him."

Ron growled in anger. "Those bastards! They have no right to treat you like that!"

"Harry, you have to tell Dumbledore. They disregarded the threats made by the aurors a couple of summers ago."

Almost instantly, his eyes were blazing with anger. Their emerald fire burned brightly, as if they were otherworldly. "No! No one is allowed to know! And besides, I didn't care that I didn't eat a lot. I wasn't all that hungry anyway."

His best friends clearly didn't believe him, but knew not to go against his wishes. If he didn't want anyone to know, then no one would know. And it was as if he was being abused or anything wretched like that. They let the subject go, turning instead to the topic of the upcoming school year.

The black-haired wizard was relieved his friends were willing to let his lack of food go. No one could know of any bad treatment by the Dursley's. If they did and Vernon found out, the muggle hit man would be dispatched to get rid of him. And as much as he hated his life, he didn't want to die just yet.

He tuned out his friends' chatter as they found a compartment on the train and settled in for the long ride to Hogwarts. Staring out the window, he let his mind wander. Thoughts of the scene on the platform assaulted him, memories of how terrified Draco Malfoy looked of his father haunted him. . .

* * *

_Why did he look so scared?_

Hell is for children,

Can you deny it?

We bleed for you,

We cry and scream for you,

Knowing all we have

Is ourselves and no one else.

You don't care, you never did.

And that's okay because

Hell is for children

* * *

A/N: This story is full of dark themes, so please don't continue if you are disturbed by this kind of thing. I'm writing this not because I'm some twisted person who likes child abuse, but because the psychological effects are interesting. I'm trying to write this as realistically as possible from what I've read and heard, but please don't yell at me if I do get some things wrong. Oh, and nothing is going to be graphic. That kind of stuff freaks me out, so yeah. No graphic rape scenes. A few snatches of memories here and there will be present in the coming chapters, but that's all.

The poem featured at the end of this chapter is written by me, so don't steal it. (As if anyone would want to since it's not that good)

Oh, and about this shortened chapter length compared to my other stories. Sorry about that, but I needed to shorten chapters for two reasons. 1) So I can update sooner; it takes longer to update when I have a longer chapters. 2) Because moods and viewpoints in the story change quite a bit and it's better if I keep things more simple. . .I hope no one's disappointed about shorter chapters, but I promise that every chapter will have at least five pages. Don't be sad!

I would really appreciate reviews to tell me if I'm doing okay. Constructive critisizm is welcome, as is normal reviews. Please, no flamers. If you don't like my story, then don't read it.

Roslyn Drycof.


	2. Awful Hands

**Title: **Nowhere To Go

**Author: **Roslyn Drycof

**Chapter: **Two: Awful Hands

**Rating: **R (for swearing and mentions of rape and child-abuse)

**Warnings: **non-graphic child abuse, non-graphic rape; future themes of cutting, thoughts of suicide, slash

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Summary: **What if you were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape? Both Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are imprisoned by memories of pain they can't run from. Can they help each other find peace? HPDM. Non-graphic child abuse. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **The usual disclaimer which says I don't own Harry Potter in any way possible in this dimension (or in any dimension, for that matter)

* * *

****

That night, Harry stumbled into bed more tired than he'd been in so long. The strain of trying to keep up the facade or normality had taken it's toll on his frail body. His bruises ached every time he moved, his mind clouded with fear every time someone touched him. He couldn't handle it.

He'd watched Malfoy during supper, his suspicions slowly being confirmed at every movement the blond made. He tensed every time someone made a sharp movement. He flinched when Blaise Zabini placed a hand on his arm when talking to him. He looked like he wanted to gag when Pansy gave him a hug. And his eyes. . .they were as cold as always, but Harry could see the pain and fear hiding in their silvery depths. To someone who these emotions were no stranger, he could easily see them in someone else. And Malfoy was overwhelmed by them.

Harry could also see other evidence to his suspicions. Malfoy was much thinner than he used to be, his wrists almost skeletal and his cheekbones hollowed. He looked as if a strong wind could blow him over. _Not too much different than from how I look. . ._

Yet why would Draco be abused by his father? Yes, Lucius Malfoy was a sadistic bastard. But that did not necessarily mean he would abuse his only son, his heir.

Reflecting on this, Harry slowly came to a horrifying conclusion. What if Lucius had been changed more than he'd thought by his brief stay in Azkaban before he'd managed to be declared innocent? What if he'd caused Lucius to begin abusing Draco?

Suddenly awake, he jerked out of bed and stared out the window that was beside his bed. He crawled onto the ledge and felt tears trace down his alabaster cheeks. If Malfoy was indeed being abused, then it was his fault.

Wasn't everything his fault? He always managed to get someone hurt or killed. First his parents. And then Cedric. And Sirius. And now. . .Malfoy.

**flashback**

_"You worthless piece of shit, you're only good for one thing. And that's spreading your pretty legs," a cruel voice taunted. _

_He whimpered, struggling to get away. No! He didn't want to be here!_

_"Boy, I said not to move!" A hand slammed against his ribs, causing the air to rush out of Harry's lungs. _

_Tears leaked out of emerald eyes. Seeing them, Vernon grinned. "You look so pretty like that. Cry for me, Boy."_

_"No!" Harry yelled, pushing at his uncle. Why was he doing this to him?_

_Anger flared in Vernon's piggy eyes. "I said to stay still!"_

_Another hand smashed into him, immobilizing Harry by the intense pain it caused. "It's your fault you're here, so don't try to escape your fate."_

_"How is it my fault?!" Harry cried out, his voice hoarse from crying. _

_A leer twisted Vernon's bloated lips. "You had to go and get so pretty. I'm glad you got your parents killed. You're mine now, all mine. My worthless, little pretty boy."_

**end flashback**

Pain coursed through the emerald-eyed teen. If only he hadn't gotten "pretty" as uncle Vernon called his looks. If only he'd gotten ugly.

It was his fault for being pretty. And it was his fault for making Lucius Malfoy even more twisted than before. All his fault.

His eyes staring blankly ahead of him, he opened the window and stared out into the night. Why shouldn't he just end his worthless life right now? Why shouldn't he just die so he couldn't cause more pain to people?

He knew he couldn't. Not until he killed Voldemort once and for all, that is. When that monster was gone, there'd be nothing to stop him from jumping. Nothing to stop him from ending his farce of a life. He wanted that day to come with all his heart. . .

* * *

Harry's first class the next day was Advanced Double Potions. He'd just barely managed to get into the course. He needed it to become an Auror. That's what he'd wanted to be before the summer. Now, he wanted to die. Maybe Snape would kill him off in this class. A boy could hope.

Only four people took this class. Him, Hermione, Blaise Zabini, and Malfoy. Only they had managed to score high enough on the OWLS to get into it.

"I am not going to tolerate mistakes in this class. Too many, and you will be pulled from the course. Understood? Good. Today, we will make the Memorii Potion. It allows a person to see one memory of another person. Partners are Zabini and Granger, Malfoy and Potter. Get to work," Snape barked at the four students as soon as they slid into their seats.

"Great, just great," Harry muttered as he dumped his stuff on Malfoy's desk. He didn't want Malfoy to see a memory of his. Even if the Slytherin was being abused, there was no way he'd give up the chance to humiliate his biggest rival.

Malfoy looked more like his usual self this morning. There was still something in his eyes, but other than that he looked almost normal.

"You heard Snape, get to work," the blond snapped.

Glaring, Harry did as he said. He didn't want to start the year off by getting points taken away from Gryffindor. When he returned to the table moments later, he was surprised to see that Malfoy had the cauldron ready.

"Don't stare at me as if I'm some three-headed dog," Draco sneered, one of his hands clenching into a fist. He hated people staring at him!

Harry wanted to laugh at the analogy Malfoy had made. Three-headed dog? It reminded him of Fluffy. Suppressing that urge, he opened his Potions book and read the directions.

Amazingly, they worked pretty well together. For once, Malfoy wasn't in the mood to taunt his nemesis to make him screw up. Considering he didn't want to fail Potions, Harry was glad the grey-eyed teen was being quiet.

Near the end of class, their potion turned the required amethyst color. Simultaneously, and albeit a little slowly, they raised their vials to their mouths and swallowed the contents. Almost immediately, a swirling feeling invaded their minds.

Harry was horrified at the images that ripped through his mind. _Malfoy, chained to a wall, his back bloodied. Lucius ripping his clothes off. Fingers slick with blood running through Draco's silky hair. Horrid whispers of lust and hatred. _

Not that what Draco saw was any less terrible. The blond wanted to gag at the memory tearing at his mind. _Potter, pressed into a musty bed. Bruises marring his pale skin, yellowed and purpled. Thick, meaty hands moving across a body much too small. Tears soaking into a pillow as pain ripped through him. _

Both boys collapsed to their knees, bile rising in their throats. They turned shocked eyes to each other, pain radiating in waves through their minds.

"No. . .nonononono!" Draco cried out, covering his head with his hands and rocking back and forth.

Harry couldn't breathe. Malfoy's memory kept replaying again and again in his mind. His lungs burned, he couldn't catch his breath. _No! Make it go away!_

He felt a scream rip free from his insides and he covered his ears with his hands. "Nooooooooo!"

Hands reached towards him and he skidded back until he was hidden underneath the work table. No hands!

Someone slammed into him and he stared into the terrified eyes of his greatest rival. They huddled under the table, ignoring the voices and the hands that tried to get them out of there.

"Don't let them touch me," Malfoy whispered hoarsely, shaking.

Harry couldn't promise any such thing. The hands, oh the awful hands! He felt himself sinking into memories. . .the hands doing awful things. . ._oh, the hands!_ _Make them go away!_

* * *

Hermione knelt on the ground, staring at her best friend and their enemy with horror in her chocolate eyes. What was wrong with them?

She'd been working quietly with Zabini when she'd seen them collapse to the ground. She'd been shocked at their terror-filled eyes and their shaking bodies. And then Malfoy had cried out. When Harry had screamed not moments later, she'd felt her insides go cold. Something was horribly wrong with them.

Running over to them, she tried to touch Harry, but he'd shied away as if she were some horrible thing. Blaise had tried the same thing with Malfoy, but the results had been the same. They wouldn't let anyone touch them. And their eyes were so blank. . .it was like they were in some other world.

"Draco! Potter!" Professor Snape yelled, worry lines etching into his face. There was no reaction to his voice.

"Did they make the potion incorrectly?" Hermione asked him, a panicky feeling in her stomach.

His eyes flicked over to their cauldron, which was simmering a nice amethyst color. "No. It's perfect."

"Then what went wrong?!" she asked shrilly.

Normally he would've taken points off Gryffindor. Instead, he muttered, "I don't know. All I can think of is that they saw a memory from each other that wasn't exactly pleasant."

Blaise frowned. "But a bad memory shouldn't cause them to act like this!"

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to think. "If it's bad enough, it can. But only if they have a personal reaction to the memory, like if they've been through the same thing."

"But that shouldn't cause them to go mental! And besides, Potter and Malfoy would never have gone through the same thing. They're from entirely different worlds."

Severus Snape disagreed with Zabini. He'd seen what Potter's like had been like with those wretched muggles. And he knew exactly what Draco's life was like. Hell. Except. . .he hadn't seen Draco the entire summer. But what could scar two teenage boys enough to cause such a reaction in them?

He didn't know, but realized that Madame Pomfrey had better be called when the two boys started hyperventilating.

"Ms. Granger, get Madame Pomfrey. Now!" he snapped, fear settling in his stomach as they huddled into the corner of the table even more. Their eyes were glassy, as if they were reliving memories of experiences they never should've experienced in the first place.

Hermione obeyed the professor without delay, running out of the classroom as fast as she could. She cursed the entire way that the infirmary was so far away. What if something even worse happened to Harry and Malfoy while she was gone?

She skidded into the infirmary, almost falling into a bed. "Madame Pomfrey! Come quick!"

The medi-witch bustled out of her office, concerned at the note of panic in the girl's voice. "What is it, dear?"

"Harry and Malfoy are in shock or something! They suddenly started screaming and hid under the table in Potions!" Hermione rushed out in one breath.

Madame Pomfrey lifted a hand to her mouth in surprise. If the boys were indeed in shock, this was very serious. They could have permanent damage if something wasn't done to snap them out of it!

She bustled towards the Potions room at a brisk pace, easily following behind the seventh year Gryffindor girl.

When they arrived in the classroom, they found Blaise with a bite mark on his arm and Professor Snape slumped at his desk, his head cradled in his arms.

"Oh dear!" She gasped, immediately hurrying over to the table where Harry and Draco huddled. The blank, fear-filled look in their eyes confirmed everything. They were indeed in shock, and badly so.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, can you hear me?" she asked softly, kneeling down to their level.

Both boys turned to look at her, only a small glimmer of recognition in their eyes. She reached out a hand and they both flinched, moans of terror spilling from their mouths.

"No hands. . ." Harry whispered, staring at her hand as if it were some terrible monster.

The medi-witch moved her hand away and saw the boys relax slightly. Why were they so terrified of being touched?

"Boys, can you come out here? I promise not to touch you, but you need to go to the infirmary with me."

Infirmary? Harry heard the word through a daze and felt his mind snap. The memories faded disappeared and he felt reality come crashing down around him. If he went to the infirmary, she'd see his bruises.

"No! I'm not going," he scowled.

"Mr. Potter, you are obviously in shock. You must come with me so you can get better."

"No. I'm not setting one foot in that wretched place. I'm not going to let you anywhere near me, you evil butcher."

"Mr. Potter!"

Malfoy let out a sharp bark of laughter at her expression. "You'll never get him to go."

She glared at him, forgetting that she had to be gentle with shock patients. "He will go, and so will you!"

"Oh, really? And how will you do that? Drag us?" he sneered, his icy mask beginning to fall back into place on his cold features.

She pulled out her wand, a useful tool with reluctant would-be patients.

Before she could mutter a single immobilizing spell, they both whipped out their wands and shouted, "Stupefy!"

Their spell caused Professor Snape to jump up and stare at his students in stunned surprise. They'd actually cast a spell on Madame Pomfrey?! They could get expelled for that!

Harry turned to Malfoy and tilted his head in the direction of the door. For once, they were in exact agreement. With agile movements, they crawled out from under the table and raced towards the door. In moments they were gone, disappearing down the corridor.

All three non-frozen people in the Potions room stared in shock as the two boys ran away. What was going on with them? There was something seriously wrong. . .

* * *

Going into shock

I just can't stay

Got to get away

Don't want to fall

Don't understand

Can't stop the screams

Can't afford to lose it all

Shut my eyes

Don't want to see

Don't want to know

My mind is tired

So empty inside

Too much lying

Sick of crying

Need salvation

Want redemption

When will this all end

Fallen angel

Lost in this hell

Eyes clenched tight

Can't seem to breathe

Hiding, always hiding

Lost in the lie

Lost pretending

Can't say goodbye

Twisting, turning

Shaking, burning

My soul is broken

I'm so hollow inside

Too much lying

Sick of crying

Need salvation

Want redemption

When will this all end

* * *

A/N: I know this chapter was a bit confusing, but I meant to write it this way. Harry and Draco's emotions are all chaotic, so I made the scene chaotic. (Just to clear this up if anyone was wondering why the hell I made this so crazy-like)

Oh, and the song posted at the end of this chapter is written by me, although I posted it on a Digimon fic (slash, of course) under then pen name DarkBryna1724 last year. All my fics under Dark Bryna are my less mature fics, so that's why their under a different name. Although, a couple of those fics are pretty good. I'm thinking of getting rid of the pen name and posting a few stories under this pen name. What do you think? Should I?

Anyway, please review. I won't continue this story if no one likes it. I love the story, but I won't write if no one is reading it. So, please don't be lazy and review! (please?)

Roslyn Drycof.


	3. Release

**Title: **Nowhere To Go

**Author: **Roslyn Drycof

**Chapter: **Three: Release

**Rating: **R (for swearing and mentions of rape and child-abuse)

**Warnings: **non-graphic child abuse, non-graphic rape; future themes of cutting, thoughts of suicide, slash

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Summary: **What if you were trapped in a situation from which there was no escape, nowhere to be safe? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are imprisoned by the memories of the pain they can't run from. Is there any hope of help? HD. Non-graphic child abuse. Slash.

**Disclaimer: **The usual disclaimer which says I don't own Harry Potter in any way possible in this dimension (or in any dimension, for that matter)

* * *

****

His heart was freezing, his throat was burning. He was crying out inside, and his lungs were constricting. Blindly, madly, he ran from the Potions room as fast as his legs could carry him. The demons of hell were hot on his heels, and his mind was screaming at him to run faster, faster. . .faster.

Harry Potter was a blur as he ran through the corridors of the school, his black robe flowing behind him and his shoes pounding the stone floor with each step. It felt like hours when it was only minutes, until he was outside and hurtling towards the lake.

Panting, he collapsed on the soft grass several feet away from the glittering waters of the lake where the Great Squid dwelled. Tears leaked from his emerald eyes and he dug his fingers into the ground. _I hate being so weak! I have to be stronger!_ he screamed at himself silently, his fingers convulsing in the grass, cording the muscles in his arms.

His fingernails crusted with dirt, he jerked himself to his feet and spread his feet shoulder-length apart. Jade fire burned in his shadowed eyes and he clenched his jaw tightly. Right then and there he made a promise to himself that was heard by the earth herself, a promise she would keep him to. **_I vow never to submit to anyone ever again_**._ **As Merlin is my witness, I will not be a victim any longer**_!

Pulling out his, wand he created a bubble to surround the twenty feet radius around him. It would keep all sound and happenings in that area invisible to anyone chancing to look over there.

Harry then raised his wand arm again and pointed it at a tree five feet away. He blasted it away with an angry shout. Seconds later, he blasted another one. He yelled spell after spell, pretending every object in the vicinity was Uncle Vernon. Was Voldemort. Was Lucius Malfoy. Was Bellatrix Lestrange. Explosion after explosion rocked the area, light beam after light beam illuminated it. And yet no one saw.

His power level skyrocketed, gaining even more power with each strike. His emotions overran him and he began to blindly attack everything. He didn't care that he was hurting himself by stray debris, didn't care that his clothes were tearing or that he was drawing blood. Scratches and cuts crisscrossed his body, blood dripping to the ground. He barely felt them, instead reveling in the physical pain they brought. The physical pain matched his psychological pain and he wanted it. He wanted to be swallowed by the pain, to make the pain he felt inside real.

_Boy. . .you can't escape me. . ._

Yes, he could! He would!

_You're so pretty, such a shame to mar all that beauty. But you can't stay beautiful forever. . .you're too pretty. . .don't want you being taken away from me. . ._

Finally, he dropped to his knees, throwing his wand away from him. His breathing was erratic and shallow, his skin glistening with sweat and blood. He would get away from Vernon forever! He wouldn't be a victim any longer! No more would he submit. . .no more. . .

He raised his eyes to the sky, screaming wordlessly to the heavens. _I will be strong_! were the words that reverberated in his mind. And he would be strong, there was no doubt about that. . .

* * *

Draco ran from the Potions room with one thought on his mind. He had to find release. Tears pricking his eyelids every time he blinked, he ran blindly through the corridors to the dungeon. Awful whispers followed him in the shadows of every alcove, lewd hisses of torture and abuse.

_My little Dragon, you're so beautiful. . ._

_There's only one thing you're good at, and you know what that is. . .only one thing you excell at. . ._

_Potter and Granger can't beat you at fucking. . ._

No! Why couldn't _his_ voice go away? He didn't want to be tormented any longer! He'd already had to suffer enough. Why couldn't the memories just go away? _I don't want to remember anymore! _

Lucius was supposed to be his father, but this man, this cruel and twisted monster, couldn't be his father. Fathers didn't hurt their children, didn't rape them and whip them. _He was supposed to be the one I could depend on. I trusted him! And he. . .broke me. He used me!_

When he saw Potter's memory, he'd been paralyzed. Potter was supposed to be the great Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who had a perfect life. And Potter was just as broken as him. Through all the years of punishments and torture, Draco had held onto his hatred for perfect Potter. He'd held onto his jealousy with the knowledge burned inside of him that he'd show Potter one day, show him that he was stronger even though life had been hell. It had kept him sane, especially this last summer when his father had begun raping him.

And now? Now his last link had been broken. Not even Potter was the way he was supposed to be. He couldn't take it. What was living if nothing was the way it was supposed to be? What was it?!

He stumbled into the Head Boys' room, his room this year. Letting the portrait slam shut behind him, he ran into his bedroom on unsteady legs. With fumbling fingers, he unlatched the doors to the antique wooden cabinet he kept by his closet. They swung open to reveal several blank canvases, an easel, and a painting kit.

Draco roughly pulled out the items, setting up the easel and throwing one of the white canvases onto it. He took out a large brush with silky smooth bristles. He mixed the paints furiously, creating numerous colors. Black. Various shades of gray. Creamy ivory. Silver. White-yellow.

Anger thrummed through his veins as he dipped the brush into the black. With long swipes, he slashed the brush across the canvas. With his memories taunting him, he painted furiously.

Slash. More black. Some gray.

_You're so much more feminine than I was at your age. . ._

Another slash. Creamy ivory. Silver. White-yellow. Must pay attention to details.

_You deserve this for being such a pansy. This is what fags do. What? You don't like the pain? But this is how poufs take it, up the ass. . ._

He took out his small scraper and scratched it along the canvas, making the lines rougher.

_You whimper so prettily, little Dragon. I like it much better than your roar. . ._

Red appeared on the canvas. He hadn't mixed any red paint.

_You're mine. . .all mine to destroy. All pretty things deserve to be broken, don't you think? You're so pretty with that blood staining your ivory skin. . ._

Yes, the blood made everything much better. . .but he decided when his blood was spilled. No more would he let Lucius hurt him. _I won't be his toy anymore! **I won't**_!

Mentally and physically drained, he staggered over to his bed and threw himself onto the silk sheets. His clothes were stained with paint and blood, his hair matted and his skin a mosaic of pain. He didn't care. For once. . .this was his doing. No one else's. His.

His last thought before slipping into the darkness of sleep was, _I will not submit_. . .

And he wouldn't. He would never submit again.

* * *

Sunlight streamed in through the window beside Harry's bed in the Gryffindor seventh years' dorm. He awoke with a groan of protest, slinging an arm across his offended eyes. Groggily, he sat up and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

Everyone was still asleep. It was just after dawn, too early for anyone else to be awake. By all rights, Harry should've still been asleep. But he wasn't. He'd crawled into bed after midnight the night before and fallen instantly asleep. Since the summer, he couldn't get more than six hours of sleep at a time. His aching body never let him.

He distractedly brushed a lock jet black hair away from his forehead and stumbled out of bed. All his muscles ached, and the cuts marring his alabaster skin stung furiously. As he gathered up his clothes for the day and made his way to the showers, he winced as the fabric of his pajamas rubbed against his wounds.

Throwing his clothes onto a wooden bench, he walked over to the floor length mirror on the right wall. He pulled off his pajamas and inspected his bruised and bloodied body with disinterest. It looked like he'd gotten into a fight with a hippogriff and lost. Bruises from that last encounter with Uncle Vernon marred his torso. Cuts from the day before criss-crossed his arms, legs, chest, and stomach. Some were pretty shallow, while others were deeper. Ironically, it was the smaller scratches that hurt the worst.

His mind was numb. A part of him was disgusted by the wounds covering his skin. The rest of him instead liked them. They made him less pretty, ruined him. And he didn't want to be pretty. Being pretty only got you pain.

He stepped into a shower stall and turned the water on. Hot water blasted out of the showerhead. It burned his wounds. Good. The remaining blood he'd been too lazy to wipe off the day before trailed down his body and into the drain.

Bracing his hands against the wall, he dropped his head and let the hot water cascade down his back. He closed his emerald eyes and saw Malfoy's face from the day before. The Slytherin's silver eyes held the same look he knew was in his own eyes every time he looked in a mirror.

How could everyone not see it?

But he knew why. They'd never been witness to that kind of pain and didn't know how to spot it. They were innocent and didn't know that it did happen to people they knew. Everyone shied away from the thought of child abuse, thinking it was something that belonged in horror stories. Everyone was blind.

He reached for the soap and scrubbed himself vigorously with it, clenching his teeth at the pain that caused. After washing all the evidence of the day before, except for the actual cuts, he stepped out of the shower stall and toweled off.

It didn't take him long to dress and he magically dried his hair. He also performed a vision-correcting spell on himself since they'd fallen apart when he'd entered the school the night before. He figured they hadn't been up to the beating they'd taken when he'd tried to banish the memories of Uncle Vernon. And actually, he preferred this clearer sight. He didn't have to adjust the thin frames of his glasses all the time anymore.

Everyone was still asleep when he entered the dorm room again. He sat down on his bed and made his mind go blank as he waited through the next couple hours until the others woke up and they went down to breakfast.

At nine o'clock, Ron was up and dressed and they made their way down the stairs to the common room. Hermione was waiting there, a searching look in her brown eyes when her gaze fell on Harry.

He slipped his hands in his pockets and ignored her. He knew it wouldn't discourage her, but he also knew she wouldn't just up and demand to know what had happened.

Sighing, the brunette followed the two boys as they went down to the Great Hall.

Harry slid into his seat with only a slight wince to betray his aches from the day before, a feat he was proud of. He didn't need impertinent questions just yet.

Unfortunately, he was about to get one anyway. He reached over for a glass of apple cider and his robe sleeve moved to show a glimpse of a long scratch starting on his hand and traveling up his forearm.

Hermione immediately noticed the wound and cried out, breathlessly, "Harry! How did you get that?"

He pulled his arm back and shoved the stupid robe sleeve back into place. His answer was short and utterly flippant. "Had a little run-in with the Whomping Willow."

She didn't believe him, and neither did the red-head sitting on the other side of him.. They both knew from first-hand experience that Harry knew how to immobilize the magical tree.

"Harry James Potter, that is a lie," Hermione announced, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

Harry simply raised an eyebrow at her. "My, my, Miss Granger certainly lives up to her sterling reputation as a know-it-all."

His two friends gasped at this. What the hell had he just said?

"What did you call her?" Ron asked, his eyes wide.

"You heard me just fine, although I understand you might have trouble understanding anything but one syllable words."

The redhead's face flushed angrily as he stared at his friend in disbelief. What had gotten into Harry to make him act so out of character? He was acting like Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!

That thought made Ron look over to the Slytherin table where Malfoy was sitting in his usual spot. The blond looked particularly cold this morning, a sneer on his face and a harsh glare in his silver eyes. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the scratches on his hands were. And when he moved to grab a biscuit, his shirt opened slightly and Ron could see a long cut slashing right below his collarbone.

"You got into a fight with the ferret!" he gasped, glaring at Harry.

Harry looked at his friend for a moment and then turned his gaze to Malfoy. He saw the scratches the blond had and a small smile curved his lips. So, he wasn't the only one to release the pain physically.

"Actually Ronniekins, I believe Buckbeak paid him a visit last night."

Another flippant answer that had both Ron and Hermione fuming. What was going on with him?!

Ron got to his feet, his face red and his eyes flashing. "You are a wretched liar! You didn't have a run in with the Whomping Willow and Buckbeak didn't visit Malfoy! You were in a fight and don't even have the guts to tell me!"

His exclamation was heard by the entire Great Hall and caused everyone to stop what they were doing and stare at the Gryffindor table. What was Ron Weasley talking about? He sounded like was on drugs!

Draco looked up from his breakfast at the Weasel's shout and smirked. So. Potter had released the pain too, and Weasley didn't believe his delightful tales. And they were delightful, really. Potter and the Whomping Willow? And him and that stupid hippogriff from third year? My, Potter sure did have a sense of humor.

He got up from his table and walked over to the Gryffindors. Weasley was glaring at him, and Potter was sitting there with a smirk on his face.

"So Weasley, I hear you don't believe your dear friend about our poor injuries. Really, I thought you had more faith in the Boy Wonder," Draco drawled, stopping right in front of the redhead.

He had the pleasure of seeing the Weasel splutter furiously, obviously shocked that he was backing up Potter's amusing tale.

Harry chose then to speak, "Yeah, Ron, I thought you had more faith in me."

Draco had to suppress a grin at the blatantly false look on Potter's face. And Weasley's reaction was quite amusing as well. He looked like a fish out of water!

"Harry, what has gotten into you?! Yesterday you have a mental breakdown in Potions, and now you're making up stories and being rude. And Malfoy, why in the hell are you supporting Harry's insane behavior?! You're enemies!" Hermione screeched, glaring furiously at the two scratched up boys.

Harry got up and slung an arm across Malfoy's shoulders. "What can I say? After Potions, we realized that we've been madly in love all these years and settled our differences."

Draco almost lost it then. Where had this wit in Potter come from? It certainly hadn't been there before. "We've even decided to get married. You can be the flower girl if you want, Granger."

Up at the staff table, Severus Snape had been watching this little scene with astonishment. Were Potter and Malfoy actually getting along? And creating tall tales together? Had the incident yesterday addled their brains?

"Malfoy, Potter, in my office immediately!" he yelled out to the two rivals.

They both turned to him and bowed mockingly. "I am at your command, oh greasy master." "Your every wish is my command, my stunningly ugly godfather."

With that, the two teenagers strode out of the Great Hall, Potter's arm still slung around Malfoy's shoulder. Professor Snape was at a loss for words as he followed them.

Outside the Great Hall, Harry and Draco burst into laughter. Harry took his arm back and looked Malfoy in the eye. "I wonder if he'll take points off."

Draco shrugged. "Probably." "Where'd those exuses about the Whomping Willow and hippogriff come from?"

"I have no idea. I think I lost a few brain cells yesterday."

Draco smirked. "Potter, you lose brain cells every time you talk."

"And you don't?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't."

"And that's why your shirt is currently turning red from your cuts yesterday," Harry drawled, pointing a finger at Draco's chest.

The blond looked down and saw the slowly spreading stain under his collarbone. Damn. How had that opened up?

"Mr. Malfoy, why in the blazes are you bleeding?" Professor Snape's voice snapped as he strode towards them.

"Oh you know, the hippogriff was a little too enthusiastic."

Snape gritted his teeth together angrily. "Must you continue Potter's idiocy?"

Draco crossed his arms and said, "Why yes, I must. Does it bother you?"

This elicited a snigger from the raven-haired teen standing beside him. Snape turned to him and gave him a dirty look. "You, Potter, are insufferable. Why did you have to go and ruin my godson?"

They'd reached Professor Snape's office by now and entered it. Once inside the cluttered room, Draco turned to his Potions' Professor with an unreadable look in his silvery eyes. "He didn't ruin me. Lucius already managed that feat by the time Potter came along."

Severus narrowed his eyes and tried to see what his godson was thinking, but he could tell nothing. Draco was masking himself very well. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Do I have to spell it out? You know exactly what he did to me."

"I know he punished you unreasonably over the years, but nothing to cause the reaction you had yesterday," he replied, sounding puzzled and not just a little tired.

Both boys had known the older man would turn bring up yesterday. It was something they definitely didn't want to talk about.

Draco's voice held defiance in it when he spoke a few moments later. "Do you know how much his short stay in Azkaban before he was found "innocent" affected him? A lot."

Severus frowned, thinking of the times he'd seen Lucius seen that debacle at the end of the boy's fifth year. The elder Malfoy _had _been different, harder and more like the Lord Voldemort. . .more insane. But what could he have done to his son that was so terrible?

Harry decided to help the man out, not out of kindness, but out of wanting to shock him. "Think of what a man can do to a woman to completely dominate her."

Bitterness rung in his voice and Professor Snape felt his insides go cold. There was only one way a man could do to completely dominate her, and that was by raping her. But if that was true, and Lucius had raped Draco. . .that meant Potter had been raped as well. The bitterness in his voice and the events of the day before all pointed to it.

Draco opened his mouth to speak softly, "All pretty things. . ."

"Must be broken," Harry continued in the same voice.

Oh. Dear. Merlin. What had they let happen? Both he and Dumbledore had known the boys' home lives had been difficult, but they'd done nothing because they hadn't had any inkling of the depth of their suffering. They'd been so blind.

And now. . .what irreparable damage had they let happen to those two innocent boys?

* * *

When am I gonna learn

Life ain't a fairytale

It's hell

And I fell

So hard

Still haven't touched bottom

Still falling

Right through autumn

Winter's still coming

Need to land

Gotta find ground

Be safe and sound

Sick of the screaming

Sick of the lying

Sick of the crying

Gotta get out

Just need to figure out

Where's the life I had

When'd it get so bad

You say it'll be fine

It'll be okay

I won't listen

To anything you say

All you do is screw me

Tell me

Lies and lies and lies

Sick of the screaming

Sick of the lying

Sick of the crying

* * *

A/N: This was a very hard chapter to write because of the cutting. I've never done that, so I don't know what it's like. I hope I didn't screw it up too badly.

I know I made Snape more perceptive and a little nicer than in the novels, but it was done on purpose. You'll see the reason why in the next couple chapters. And yes, you're also probably wondering where the hell Harry and Draco's behavior in the Great Hall and afterwards came from, but I assure you, it's there for a very good reason! They are still reacting badly to the day before, and also want to lash out at people because their lives are hell and everyone else has no idea how it feels to hurt so much inside. This is a reaction I will delve into deeper in the coming chapters of the story.

The song at the end of this chapter is also one of mine. It's called _Sick Of_. Don't steal, though I know you won't.

Thank you for the reviews I've recieved so far. I really like knowing how I'm doing with such an emotionally and psychologically driven story and I'm glad people think I'm doing okay. Thanks again! And please review this chapter, too!

Roslyn Drycof.


End file.
